


Can't Help Falling In Love With You

by Hana_Noiazei



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: DenNor, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M, seriously it's just fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:28:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21881302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hana_Noiazei/pseuds/Hana_Noiazei
Summary: Two simple men in love spend time together, like they’ve done every day since meeting each other.
Relationships: Denmark/Norway, Denmark/Norway (Hetalia)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 16





	Can't Help Falling In Love With You

Flowers.

Always the eager one, Henrik runs into the field first and bounces through calf-length grass swaying around him, laughing. “Come on, Stell!”

Hefting up their picnic basket, he steps into the field with Henrik, letting the sun warm his skin and Henrik’s laughter fill his ears. Scratchy grass brushes Stellan’s legs as he trails behind Henrik, scaring away skittish field mice and dodging a few curious bumblebees.

Henrik finds a small spot beneath a wisteria tree, devoid of dead leaves and the grass scattered with pale purple petals. They set down their picnic blanket there, pushing at swaying lilac fronds. The fronds of wisteria block out the sunlight like a flowery curtain, scattering petals every time a gentle wind blows past.

“This is pretty.” Stellan opens up the picnic basket, pulling out flasks of sparkling water and towering slices of smørbrød. “How did you find a place like this?”

“By taking lots of walks and searching around the entire town.” He flops down on the white picnic blanket, scooping up a handful of wisteria petals. “When I saw it, I thought I was seeing things for a moment! Never thought we’d find somewhere so pretty, huh?”

Stellan dodges the petals Henrik’s thrown at him, slapping them away from their platters of food. “Stop,” he protests weakly, “I’m not eating food with flowers on it.” But he tosses his own handful of petals at Henrik, smiling as it sails over their blanket and hits him in the back of the head.

“Oh, you - “ He grabs at the ground, hurling more petals at Stellan as he delicately steps around their picnic blanket. “I thought you were the one who didn’t want to eat petals!”

“I don’t!” Careful not to knock over the glass bottles on the blanket, he brushes petals off his jacket and pokes his tongue out at Henrik. “Unlike you, stupid, I’m avoiding our food as I attack you.”

He spits out a petal and raises his hands in defeat, laughing as Stellan lunges at him and ends up on the ground. “All right, Stell, white flag. I surrender. How ‘bout we have our food before we kick dirt all over it?”

“Okay, fine.” He sits down next to the basket, resting his back against the tree trunk. “I don’t want our stuff to get attacked by ants, anyway.”

The sparkling water is refreshing, cool and bubbly compared to the stuffy heat of the sun. They clink their bottles together and feel a breeze _swoosh_ softly past. Henrik wipes his mouth crudely after a swig of his drink, earning a dirty look from Stellan. “Sorry, your majesty.”

He elbows Henrik in the side and sets down his bottle, running one hand over the soft cotton of the picnic blanket. “Learn your manners, peasant, or I’ll have you beheaded.” 

Both of them laughing, they bite into their smørbrød, herbed butter and smoked salmon and rye bread prepared hurriedly after Henrik’s sudden proclamation of, “we’re going to have a hella amazing date today, let’s go!” Stellan drops some of the crumbs from his bread to a few passing-by ants, watching as they carry it back to their lair.

“Aww, you’re so nice to the ants!” Henrik drops a buttered crumb onto the ground and lets another cluster of ants pick it up. “Nice to everyone but me.”

“What, you want me to throw crumbs at you?”

Henrik mimes tossing more petals at Stellan. “_Anyways_, when we’re done, we can go check out the flowers out there. The first time I came here, I saw some really nice honeysuckle, a few stalks of baby’s breath, ooh and I think a bird-of-paradise!”

They tidy up their empty plates and head out to the flower fields, wading through jade grass. Stellan tugs at a stalk of delphinium, gently tucking one of the delicate cerulean flowers behind Henrik’s ear. Henrik weaves a white hyacinth blossom into his hair, right next to his hairclip. 

Stellan raises one hand to touch the delicate petals of the flower. “Do you know how hyacinths were created, according to Greek mythology?”

He kisses Stellan on the ear, lips brushing the hyacinth blossom. “Let me guess: one of the Greek gods was injured in some war or another, and their blood created the flower?”

“You’re not far off.” He plucks another hyacinth blossom from the sprig, turning it around in his hands. “Legend says that the Spartan warrior Hyakinthos was fought over by both Apollo, the sun god, and Zephyr, the god of the west wind. When he chose to spend time with Apollo instead of Zephyr, though, Zephyr was so overcome with jealousy that he interfered with a game of quoits between the lovers, sending Apollo’s discus careening off course and carving into Hyakinthos’ neck.”

“That’s messed up.”

“That’s the Greeks for you. Apollo tried everything he could to save Hyakinthos, but even his skills as the god of medicine proved futile. It appeared that the Fates meant it for his lover to die. After Hyakinthos died, Apollo created the hyacinth from his blood, inscribing the words of despair onto their petals.”

Kissing his ear again, Henrik whistles lowly. “That’s pretty tragic, all right. Imagine your boyfriend being killed by a jealous rival who just couldn’t get over being rejected. That’s gotta hurt, eh?”

“And from then on, hyacinth flowers have been used to symbolise deep regret and a request for forgiveness.” Stellan touches the flower woven into his hair. “Except for white ones, somehow. They symbolise loveliness.”

Moving on to Stellan’s neck, Henrik laughs against his skin. “Well, that fits perfectly.”

“That - that tickles.” He wrests out of Henrik’s grip, standing on tiptoes to peck him on the lips. Henrik grins and kisses him again, arms around his waist. “Hey!”

They stumble out of the field, trying not to fall onto the grass as they make their way back to the wisteria tree. By the time they reach it, Stellan’s clip is half-falling off, Henrik’s shirt is untucked and both of them are flushed red.

The thin blanket cushions their fall, Stellan finding himself staring down at Henrik. Slowly, he brushes his hair away from his face, bending down to brush his lips over Henrik’s forehead. Their hands reach out to lace together, and Stellan brings them to his lips to gently kiss each knuckle.

As he swipes his tongue at Henrik’s bottom lip, tilting his head to deepen their kiss, the wind blows and scatters petals. Some land in Stellan’s hair, some finding their way on Henrik’s shirt. Henrik brushes those petals off as he pushes up Stellan’s jacket, gently running fingers over his waist and back.

They leave no marks, don’t bite, don’t scratch. Stellan trails butterfly kisses down Henrik’s neck, Henrik sighs into his mouth when they kiss again. Not long after, Henrik holds him to his chest, letting the steady _thumps_ of his heartbeat fill his ears. “I love you.”

Stellan closes his eyes and nuzzles into Henrik’s shirt. “I love you too,” he says, voice muffled.

When the sun begins to set, painting the sky with its rosy streaks, they sit upright, on the lavender-coloured carpet of wisteria and watch as the sun descends over the horizon.

The fading light washes their faces with a soft gold sheen, and it’s not until the sun’s close to disappearing do they get up, folding their picnic blanket and putting it into the basket before making the slow walk home.

They pass quieting streets, watching as the local baker closes his bakery’s doors, the florist bring his flowers back indoors and the bookseller switch off their store’s lights. A few steps away from their house, a sole streetlamp is lit, a few moths fluttering around the light.

Unlike the sun, the lamp’s glow is harsh, a little too bright. But underneath it, Henrik kisses Stellan again, the two of them swaying languidly as the rest of the town gets ready to end the day.

When they return home, they don’t turn on the lights. Instead, Henrik places a few scented candles by their bedroom window and piles cushions up on their window-seat, sniggering as Stellan burrows under his blanket next to him. “It’s cold, okay?” He insists, when Henrik tries to take his blanket away.

They share headphones and listen to a soothing retelling of _Underneath This Sky_, gazing at the stars glittering outside. Stellan ends up laying his head in Henrik’s lap, eyes drooping as he runs gentle fingers through his hair.

The clock strikes eleven when they move to the living room, sharing a carton of mint chocolate ice cream and switching on the television. Henrik points at the people on screen, cracking jokes at their every move while Stellan tries to save their sofa from an unfortunate spillage of ice cream.

The clock strikes twelve when they wash their ice cream bowls and return them to their kitchen cabinets, returning to the living room to watch more mindless shows. At some point, when the television switches off on its own, Henrik drifts off to sleep, one hand wrapped around Stellan’s shoulder and the other one stretched out.

A few minutes later, Stellan gives in to his sleepiness, scooting into Henrik’s lap and tucking his head under his chin.

The next morning, both of them have cramps as they awake to sunlight shining through their curtains. Stellan grabs his blanket from Henrik, wrapping it around himself while he yelps in indignation and tries to take it back.

A cushion falls to the floor as Henrik peppers Stellan’s face with kisses, fighting valiantly for his blanket. While wriggling away from Henrik, he squeaks and falls off the couch.

But still, he glares up triumphantly at Henrik and swaddles his blanket tighter. “I won.”

Henrik reaches down to unwrap him from the blanket, tossing it aside and getting up from the sofa with a yawn. “Come on, let’s make breakfast.”

It’s a terrible mistake, really, as Stellan blearily drops eggshells into the frying pan and Henrik spills oil onto their feet. After wasting two eggs in their attempt to make an omelette, both of them decide to simply buy something from the bakery later on and head to the bathroom to take a shower.

Inside, pelted by the gentle downpour of warm water, they embrace, smiling and laughing as they belt out random songs and crack jokes. It’s lovely, beautiful, _amazing_ that they can spend the rest of their lives like this.

_For I can’t help falling in love with you,  
No, I can’t help falling in love with you,_

**_I just can’t help falling in love with you._**


End file.
